


Candlelight and Roses

by ForAllLove



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sensuality, Vague references to torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForAllLove/pseuds/ForAllLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rotten week sees a perfect ending.</p><p>Written for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/tardiscrash">TARDIScrash’s</a> prompt at <a href="http://best-enemies.livejournal.com">Best Enemies</a>: Five is having a terrible day and the Master does something sweet and lovely to cheer him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candlelight and Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YourFavoriteRobot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourFavoriteRobot/gifts).



The main problem with travelling alone was that there was nobody to rescue you when things went wrong.  
   
The Doctor hobbled into his TARDIS with no intentions other than sleeping for an aeon. At least he’d only been in prison for a week before he’d been cleared, but the torture did start to wear on a fellow after a while. Though suspicious by nature, the Po were obliging enough once they’d decided his cricket ball did not, in fact, house the plans of coup for the latest insurrection. They’d even cleaned the blood out of his jumper while he’d been busy with their second-best tissue regenerator.  
   
Their second-best tissue regenerator, unfortunately, did nothing for the bruises.  
   
“Well, nothing a good long sit in the Vortex won’t fix,” the Doctor said, before he remembered there was no one to talk to. He circled the console, throwing levers and flicking switches with bone-weary resignation. The TARDIS took pity on him and sailed gently into time.  
   
There were many things the Doctor could do with right now. Tea, for one. Bed, for another. But the crimson splash that caught his eye proved more intriguing. He popped on his spectacles for a closer look. A small swirl of petals stained the clean white of the floor. Earth rose, “Black Magic,” if memory served. The fragrance was intoxicating. He swayed a bit, revelling in sweetness long overdue; then it occurred to him to wonder who’d been in his TARDIS. The petals twined about, reminiscent of Gallifreyan writing, and spiralled on through the door ahead.  
   
He was more tired than he thought. It _was_ Gallifreyan writing.  
   
The Doctor dithered until he remembered, again, that he was alone. Well, alone in this room. He put a hand up to steady his hearts and limped after the trail of petals.  
   
The line of crimson wound down cloisters, up staircases, and once through a garden he’d forgotten, coiling every so often into another circular sentence, another Damask phrase that set his heartsbeat throbbing in his ears. At last, the petals disappeared under a door. The Doctor laid a trembling hand upon the knob with no idea which room lay beyond, whether he’d visited before or whether it was newly made for him tonight. He pushed inside.  
   
The room was aglow with candlelight. The rose petals gathered in eddies of almost-black beneath his feet, mixing their perfume with the aromatic smoke in sensory bliss. The far end of the room was consumed by a vast, steaming bath. Upon the wide step, the Master reclined on cushions as crimson as the rose petals. He held out his hand.  
   
The Doctor was at his side without a thought.  
   
Their fingers entwined. The Doctor reached out with his other hand to touch the collar of the Master’s silk robe, the only truly black in the room. It seemed to drink in the candlelight; he imagined he could sink into it if he tried. Perhaps he leaned down ― perhaps the Master drew him in ― then, he was in the Master’s lap, and the Master was holding him, kissing him, holding him. The Doctor caressed his face, his infernal beard, laughing when the Master tugged off his spectacles, even as tears dampened the silk beneath his cheek.  
   
The Master began to undress him with soothing gentleness. First his coat, slipped off easily. Next, the jumper. The Doctor whimpered as he had to work his shoulders, in spite of his lover’s care. This earned him more kisses; his shirt fell away while his eyes were closed. The Master helped him to stand, and trousers and pants went down together to his ankles. The Doctor petted the dark head by his hip in apology as he broke the silence. “I’m sorry― I can’t, there won’t be―”  
   
The Master kissed his belly, hands around his waist. “There will be time.” He squeezed mischievously, and then bent to remove the Doctor’s trainers.  
   
The Doctor rubbed his lover’s shoulders even as he steadied himself. He pulled the Master, striped trousers still in his hands, to his feet and hid his face against his neck. Chuckling, the Master threw the trousers aside, wrapped his arms around him, and hugged him hard enough to make him squeak.  
   
The Master murmured an apology, ghosting fingertips over bruised ribs. The Doctor kissed him, shushed him, kissed him again. With infinite care, his lover guided him to the bath and eased him in.  
   
“Welcome home, my dear.”

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone’s interested, there’s podfic [here](http://dl.dropbox.com/u/58998850/Candlelight%20and%20Roses%20by%20ForAllLove.mp3), 5:13. Left-click to play in your browser, or right-click to save!
> 
> Thus concludes the twelve-hour (TWELVE SOLID HOURS) move from LJ to AO3. Time to write some new stuff!


End file.
